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By the second set, the crowd and the music somehow became glued together. It was as if the music were pulling couples onto the dance floor. I had never seen that many people on the floor before. They had to move to the music. And, after 40 or 50 years together, they knew each other’s moves very well. Dancing couples don’t change partners at this club. It seems to promote long marriages and reduce brawls.

I think it was when the band played “Lady Be Good” that all hell started to break loose. Cocuzzi got “drunk” on his own solo and couldn’t stop playing. People in their sixties through eighties at surrounding tables started yelling and screaming and cheering before the solo was over. While Chuck Hedges was wailing away on clarinet, he tapped his right heel so fast that his baggy pants billowed like a wind was blowing up his leg.

“I’ve got stomach cramps,” my friend, Sandy, whispered to me. “This music is so intense!”

I told Sandy that she had to come to this concert. Her boyfriend, Hugh, was drafted to attend as well.

Each table at the Glendora House has a small tent sign on it. One side asks smokers to reduce their indoor smoking so as not to kill the musicians. The other side asks patrons to refrain from talking while the music is playing. I tried to get Hugh’s attention. When he noticed my stare, I gave him a “thumbs up” gesture and a “thumbs down” one. He returned the thumbs up. Later, he told Sandy that if he could have played clarinet as well as Chuck Hedges, he would have been dead by now, due to appreciative patrons offering to buy him drinks.

About midway through the concert, Cocuzzi announced, “I’m going to play some songs from my CD. It’s for sale here,” he hinted.

He stepped up to the old Everett console piano that is part of the ballroom’s furnishings and let Don Stille take a break.

“Here’s an old Fats Waller tune,” he said, lapsing into “Curse of an Aching Heart.” He swung a boom microphone toward him and sang as he played in a bouncy, percussive style. I don’t know if he was formally trained in voice. Maybe one day he just decided to sing. The crowd didn’t seem to care. The next thing they knew he had them singing choruses of “Hey Baba Rebop” at the top of their lungs with him.

He returned to his vibes, like a snake charmer, to change the pace of the set. At that point, I didn’t know whether he was a musician or a magician.
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